


What Lies Beneath

by AsheRhyder



Series: More Than True [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 05:25:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7832104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsheRhyder/pseuds/AsheRhyder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse McCree has, for an outlaw, lived a long and enriched life. In his wanderings he's seen amazing, terrifying, and downright strange things. </p><p>None of them hold a candle to the actual, goddamn dragon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Lies Beneath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibimono](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibimono/gifts).



     Jesse McCree has, for an outlaw, lived a long and enriched life. He’s traveled across the world, met new and fascinating people, and though it’s true he shot a good many of them, in his defense they mostly fired first. He’s seen sunsets reflected on steel and glass in a dozen cities, seen thunderstorms sweep across the desert in sheets of lightning and walls of rain, and he’s seen just about every kind of man-made mischief imaginable, including some he put a stop to right quick. In his wanderings, he’s seen some amazing, terrifying, and downright strange things.

     None of them hold a candle to the actual, goddamn dragon.

     Deep in the bowels of the ruined remains of Shimada castle, Jesse stands before the massive, serpentine creature, looks at the hand cannon of a firearm he carries, and for the first time in his life wishes he carried a bigger gun. One of Reyes’ shotguns might be nice. Or Morrison’s pulse rifle. Or, you know, an anti-aircraft missile.

     The dragon scowls down at him. At least it seems to be scowling. For all Jesse knows, its face could look like that naturally.

     “Leave,” it says simply, no address or preamble. It demands no explanation and likewise offers none, just that single word in a voice like gravel sliding under water.

     “Aww, c’mon, I just got here. Do you know how hard it is to shimmy your way through collapsed halls built for people half a damn head shorter than you?” Jesse doesn’t whine, but only because there’s too much insolence in his tone. The dragon’s lip curls back from a row of white teeth, and Jesse half expects to get cuffed upside the head by Reyes for his sass.

     But those days are long gone.

     “Those who disturb the monster of Shimada castle do not leave alive,” says the dragon, more than a little bitterly. It’s a funny tone to make with that statement, and Jesse grins around his cigar despite himself.

     “From what I see,” he kicks idly at half a skull lying around, “they don’t leave at all.”

     The dragon growls.

     “Go away,” It would be more intimidating if the dragon didn’t curl away from him like a struck dog. “Leave me.”

     “Nah, I can’t do that.” Jesse nudges the skull away and steps closer, which turns out to be a mistake as the dragon whips back around and slams a claw into his chest. Were it not for his armor, he would be perforated. As it is, he’s knocked onto his ass from the impact.

     “Oh? So you are a hunter, then, after the monster’s head?” It looms above him, exposing its long, slender throat. The movement could almost be a taunt, but the dragon has not pinned Jesse’s arms, nor even dislodged his gun from his holster. In the long three seconds that follow, Jesse tracks six places he could shoot and be reasonably sure of landing a fatal blow. His hand stays by his side. His gun remains in its place.

     “Only a hunter on alternating Tuesdays,” he says to break the awful tension. Embarrassed silence follows. “It’s Thursday,” he offers.

     The dragon pulls back a little.

     “What do you want?” It demands in a huff.

     “Hanzo Shimada,” Jesse says, and watches the dragon flinch. It freezes rather than relax, a lake in winter.

     “All the Shimada are dead,” it says flatly.

     “I doubt that.”

     “Believe what you will, but do it somewhere else.”

     “No can do. I didn’t climb all the way down here to go back empty handed.”

     “You will not find what you seek.”

     “I’m patient enough to try.”

 

     The dragon, Jesse can see once he’s looked around a bit more, is pinned under the rubble. Its front half is free and flexible enough to give the illusion of mobility, but its back half, along with any presumed legs, are caught under massive beams and chunks of stone that once propped up the castle. Jesse doubts that even Winston and Reinhardt working together could move them all.

     “That looks mighty painful,” he says.

     “It is,” the dragon replies.

     “Have you tried wriggling?”

     The dragon glowers at him in mute outrage, but Jesse has learned the best way to counter is with unrelenting earnestness. After nearly a full minute of the same expectant stare, the dragon finally mutters, “yes.”

     “No luck?”

     “The pain — I cannot.” It bows its head, and Jesse feels like he just kicked a puppy.

     “I’m sorry.”

     “Do not concern yourself. It is no less than—“ the dragon catches itself and falls into a grumpy silence.

     “You think you deserve to have a whole damn castle on your back?” Jesse tilts his hat back and lets out a low whistle, which echoes in the makeshift sanctuary around them. The dragon bristles.

     “If the house should fall, should it not do so on the one tasked with carrying it?” It moves to snarl in Jesse’s face, but all his wandering has put him in an awkward place, and the dragon winces as it tries to stretch too far. Jesse immediately steps back to a more convenient spot. He dares to reach one hand out and stroke the matted fur along the dragon’s back. The dragon jerks back at the touch and watches him warily.

     Jesse backs off a little. He breaks out his rations and eyes the dragon speculatively.

     “You want some?” He asks. “I doubt it will fill you up much, but I’m guessing you don’t get many delivery guys down here.”

     “We are unfortunately just outside the range of service,” the dragon drawls, and Jesse grins.

     “I knew you had a sense of humor in there somewhere.” He breaks off the majority of the MRE and holds it out to his dinner guest. “C’mon. You know you want it.”

     The dragon manages to make an outraged face at Jesse’s salacious tone. Jesse takes the opportunity to toss the MRE into its gaping mouth. There is too little to chew, but it manages an awkward swallow. Jesse holds up his canteen and takes the poorly disguised longing in the dragon’s eyes as a “yes, please”. He closes in slowly all the same and graciously pays no mind to the heart-rending groan of relief that echoes from somewhere in the dragon’s long chest as he pours water in its mouth.

     Jesse settles back down nearby. He seems careless in his sprawl, but a sharpshooter has to know his space, and Jesse has mapped his with a professional’s eye. He is within range that the dragon could, with some effort, still kill him. It’s a calculated position, close enough for trust but not so much as to feel like an intrusion. It is, he amuses himself thinking in the waiting silence, just about the same distance Morrison kept from Reyes when the latter was in a bad mood.

     ‘Just close enough to care.’

 

     Time passes.

     The dragon doesn’t sleep. It doesn’t stay still much, either. Jesse catches a few hours rest, but he can feel the shift in the air when the dragon moves its body. Pieces of debris occasionally settle ominously.

     “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He asks. The dragon snorts.

     “It has not brought down the rest of the place in ten years. I doubt it would be so merciful as to fall now.”

     “Ten years, huh. You’ve been down here a long time.”

     “Dragons are very long lived.” It pauses. “Most of them, anyway.”

     “Are you—“

     “Will you not go?” The dragon hisses. There is no heat to its voice, just desperation. “What do you hope to gain with this charade?”

     “I told you. Hanzo Shimada.”

     “Surely your grudge is not so enduring that you must seek satisfaction here? He cannot give it to you.”

     “I don’t have a grudge.”

     “Then why are you here?!” This comes out in a roar that blows Jesse’s hat right off his head. Jesse barely blinks.

     “I’m here for Hanzo Shimada.”

     The dragon groans. It sounds just like the timber atop its back creaking.

     “I told you, all the Shimada are dead.”

     “And I told you, I don’t believe that.”

     “Shimada Hanzo.” The dragon spits out the name like a curse, but properly, family name first. “Shimada Hanzo murdered his brother. For this transgression, he was consumed by the dragons, and the entire castle fell to their wrath.”

     “Shimada Genji,” Jesse says patiently, weathering the dragon’s full body flinch and the rain of detritus that accompanied it, “isn’t dead.”

     The dragon’s eyes widen.

     “You lie.”

     “There’s some politics involved, and some serious cybernetic-medical stuff I don’t claim to know in full, but the long and short of it is this: we got him out, we got him better, and he’s finally got some kind of peace.”

     “You lie!” The dragon convulses again. Debris shifts dangerously as it thrashes and then collapses.

     “He’s on my team,” Jesse says, watching the dragon carefully. His balance is battle ready. His hand rests above Peacekeeper. “He’s my friend.”

     The dragon writhes. It causes the whole pocket of space to tremble. Pebbles cascade from above and dust settles on Jesse’s serape.

     “Then you are here to avenge him,” the dragon says like it is a fact of the universe. “I warn you, my crimes are great, but I will not simply lie down and die.”

     “I’m not here to kill you.” Jesse takes his hand away from his hip. “Hanzo.”

     A shudder ripples down the dragon’s back.

     “A scout, then, to let him know where to find me, so that he may avenge himself.”

     “A friend,” Jesse repeats, “who’s watched his friend start to recover.”

     “Why are you here?” The dragon holds its head high. Jesse can see tremors in the muscles held too tensely so that it can maintain that posture.

     “I guess I wanted to see what kind of man could do that to his brother,” he says, “and still get Genji’s forgiveness anyway.”

     It only takes those two words to break the dragon’s pride. The name alone induces another shiver, but the sentiment that follows strikes like a knife. The dragon curls in on itself, cradling its head in its claws. Its face, so descriptive of its mood, is inhumanly unreadable.

     Jesse waits.

     Eventually, the dragon says, “no”.

     “You don’t get to decide that for him.”

     “And you do?”

     “‘Course not.”

     “Why come to this place? Why come to me? I am dead. I am cursed. I pay for my crimes in constant pain. Is that not enough?”

     Jesse stares at the dragon like he’s staring into a mirror, one with a reflection that shows a time long ago. Or not so long ago, some days.

     “Is it?”

     “No,” admits Hanzo, “but I don’t know what else to do.”

     “He wants to see you,” says Jesse.

     “He could not come for himself?”

     “Well, someone keeps telling me all the Shimada are dead.”

     “I am in Hell. Surely I must be dead.”

     “I think he hoped otherwise.” Jesse kneels down beside the dragon. “But if he was wrong… Well, I don’t think he’s ready to be wrong.”

     “One of us has to be,” Hanzo mutters. “It must be his turn eventually.”

     “It’s hard enough forgiving the people you still got,” Jesse says, as much to himself as to the dragon. “Forgiving the ones that are gone is harder, on account of all the things you’ll never get to say.”

     Hanzo snorts.

     “I know nothing of forgiveness,” he says. “I have neither asked, nor earned.”

     Jesse runs his hand down the dragon’s side to the point where the blue-steel scales disappear under rocks and wood.

     “I think you made a pretty good down payment here. Are you ready to go see your brother?”

     The dragon’s eyes are ringed in white, from pain, panic, or both.

     “I cannot; it will crush me—“

     “It’s certainly going to if you don’t do something,” Jesse growls, revealing the iron weight at the end of his molasses patience. “You can’t stay here. The only way to keep it from crushing you is to get moving!”

     Jesse tugs, and Hanzo nearly bites him while snarling out curses.

     “Are you sure you aren’t here to avenge my brother?” he hisses.

     “Your brother is willing to let go,” Jesse grunts. “I’m not saying you can’t pick it up again if you two need to, but for right now, right here, you need to let. Go. TOO!”

 

     In an instant, things change. Night gives way to day. Disbelief surrenders to hope. And, most immediately affecting the structural integrity of the ruins, Hanzo the dragon becomes Hanzo the man, who takes up significantly less space and is sprawled across Jesse McCree. Hanzo’s legs are a mess: bloody, bruised, and most likely broken, but the dragon’s fortitude saved him. Healing will be a task for the man and whatever determination he can muster.

     Jesse doesn’t waste any time; he scoops up Hanzo and books it out the way he originally came. By grace, fate, or luck, they make it out just before the rest of the ruins collapse in on themselves.

     “Jesse!” shouts a distorted voice, but one Hanzo clearly recognizes by the way he flinches against Jesse’s chest. “You found him?”

     “You were supposed to be in Dorado,” Jesse chides. “I came out here on my own so I could figure out if I had to break bad news to you!”

     “A cowboy cannot keep secrets from a ninja.” Genji skids up, ocular scanners glowing brighter as he takes in his brother’s condition. Hanzo weathers the gaze with no visible expression, but Jesse can feel the tremors that wrack his body.

     “You are goddamn glow-in-the-dark, do not talk to me about keeping secrets,” Jesse growls, unheeded, to keep from suffocating in expectant silence.

     “Brother,” Genji says at last. He reaches out slowly, as if expecting Hanzo to draw back or smack his hand away, but Hanzo endures the hand that falls on his shoulder like it’s the weight of their fallen castle all over again. “Hanzo—“

     “Genji.” Hanzo says at last. All the lights on Genji’s cybernetic body brighten. Hanzo watches them all with dull eyes.

     “I am glad to see you still live, brother.” Genji’s words cause Hanzo to flinch again as words caught in his throat. He curls against Jesse the way he had once pressed back against the stones trapping him below the castle, and Jesse gives Genji a tired smile above Hanzo’s head.

     “We better get him to Angela right quick,” Jesse says. “You ain’t gonna believe what your brother’s been doing the last ten years.”  
Genji nods and moves to lead them to the transport ship.

     “Genji,” Hanzo says, choking on his voice but forcing his way through as his brother turns back around. “You, too.”

     Beneath his visor, Genji smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Also on tumblr as one of the [Bad Sleep Twins](http://badsleeptwins.tumblr.com/) or by myself as [deliriumexmachina](http://deliriumexmachina.tumblr.com).


End file.
